nightlock: from the eyes of foxface
by Faerie0975
Summary: "it's so much easier to work alone. friendship, i've learned, is useless. they're all going to die whether they're in the arena or not. death is inevitable." / foxface's pov in the arena.


**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: _**_This is a one-shot from Foxface's POV that I wrote during the summer for a teen writing contest at my local library. There were two categories - original and fanfiction - and over 40 entries in total. "Promise," my original story, won its category. And guess what? NIGHTLOCK WON FANFICTION! So now a bunch of pissed-off teen authors probably think the competition was rigged because I got first in both categories. ;)_

•••

**N****IGHTLOCK**

_From The Eyes of Foxface_

_•••  
_

I crouch in the bushes. Watching, waiting. They have to all leave at some point. Otherwise I'll have to wait until nightfall, when they're asleep. They'll have a guard out, of course; they would never leave their horde of supplies unguarded. I could be gone before they even know I'm there. But only if the guard is one of the _vulnerable_ Careers, maybe the District 3 boy.

The Careers - teens who have been training their whole lives to be in the Hunger Games, to win, to come back home to fame and fortune. Who want the glory that badly. Who maybe even lunged forwards to volunteer, like Cato. Why would they _want_ to be in the Games? Only one tribute out of twenty-four will survive. Their odds are slim.

I've been watching them for two days, stomach growling. While I wait, I occupy myself with going over the proper path to the supplies. Just by watching, I think I know where it's safe to step. And that's important, because the District 3 boy - "Explosives," I've nicknamed him - has moved the mines, the ones that threaten to blow a tribute to pieces if they step off their platform before the gong signals the beginning of the Games. He's even reactivated them, effectively protecting the supplies.

Brushing my bright red hair out of my eyes, I pull the hood of my thin black jacket closer around my face; an attempt to hide the bright beacon that is my hair. Before me lies the flat plain surrounding the Cornucopia. Directly across the plain from me is the grassy area where Thresh, from District 11, disappeared at the start. I followed him for a while the other day. He had nothing worth taking, so I left him alone. A lake lies next to Thresh's sanctuary, and the rest of the arena is filled by dense forests.

The supplies aren't even _in_ the Cornucopia, which has been picked clean. A neat pyramid of sacks, crates, and bins is stacked next to the golden horn; the rest of the supplies are spread out around it. The farther away, the less useful. But they're all important - they mark the safe spots. Land next to one of those supplies, you'll be fine. Too far away, they'll be scraping bits of you from the dirt.

There are four of them. Marvel - District 1 - and Explosives, then Cato and Clove, the District 2 tributes. They're all covered in huge swollen bumps - who knows what happened to them, but they've tried every kind of medicine they've got. None of it's worked. _Props to whoever did it,_ I think, smiling.

Cato is shouting and pointing. For a moment, I panic. Has he seen _me?_ I spin, still crouching, my legs aching from the cramped position, and search the trees, the undergrowth, the sky. _Please let him have seen something else,_ I pray, looking for something, anything, a threat other than me.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I spot the thing the Careers are now arming themselves against. A pillar of smoke rising into the sky. I almost laugh aloud as I think of the possibilities. Who in their right mind would start a fire in broad daylight?

"We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway," Cato's saying as I return my attention to the four tributes by the edge of the lake. He's gesturing towards a nervous-looking Explosives. "No one can touch those supplies."

Ha. That's what _they_ think.

That's the problem with Careers. They never think to check whether or not they're being spied on, or whether someone's going to betray them. Not that many people are stupid enough to attempt to betray a Career. And not to mention the fact that a group of Careers is, well, a _group._ They hunt like a pack of wolves, and by the time it's down to just them, they've formed some kind of _bond_ that makes it so much harder to imagine their allies betraying them, or to even _think_ about being the first to betray the pack.

It's so much easier to work alone. Friendship, I've learned, is useless. They're all going to die whether they're in the arena or not. Death is inevitable.

"What about Lover Boy?" asks Marvel.

_Lover Boy?_ It takes a moment to figure out who they mean. It's a fitting name for the District 12 boy who claims to be head over heels in love with Katniss Everdeen.

Katniss. Everyone in Panem knows her name; she's the Girl on Fire, one half of the star-crossed lovers of this year's Games. She managed to get an eleven in training and I _know_ she's a threat. I followed her for a while, until the night the Careers went to take her out. They didn't get her - or me. I cleared out when I heard them coming.

"...miracle he hasn't bled to death yet," I hear Cato snapping. "At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us."

So Lover Boy's been kicked out; injured, hiding somewhere. He hasn't died. I haven't seen his face in the sky yet. I wonder how much air time he's getting. I wonder how much air time _I'm_ getting. Not much, I'll bet. All the attention will be on the Careers and the fire-starter.

"When we find her, I kill her in my own way, and no one interferes," Cato orders as they head off in the direction of the smoke. The only _her_ I can think of that he might be referring to is Katniss, and I don't think she's that stupid.

I wait until it has to be safe, in case they decide to send Explosives back after all. About a half hour in total. Then, slowly, I straighten, not bothering to brush myself off. Food is more important. I'll be shown on every TV screen in Panem in a few seconds, daring to steal from the Careers, and I couldn't care less what I look like.

I creep out into the open. My entire body is tense, ready to dart back into the cover of the forest at a moment's notice.

It's safe. I run towards the supplies, screeching to a halt as I reach the marker that shows me where the defense begins; a disposable plastic spoon, the outermost of the supplies lying around the pyramid.

Here's where it gets tricky. I take a moment to go over the safest route in my head, then begin to cross the minefield. As I do, I notice something else - wherever there's a mine, the ground has been dug up and then patted back down again. I steer clear of these spots. Each time I land, usually on one foot, I wobble a little. My heart beats frantically in my chest; if I fall, I'm done. if the Careers return, I'm just as dead.

I take another leap and land precariously on my toes. Bad move; I'm falling. I give a squeal of dismay, preparing myself for death, reaching forwards to catch myself on my hands. I'm dead, I'm dead. Goodbye, world. My hands hit the hard earth and my movement stops. I brace myself for the _kaboom_ that announces my death to the world.

Silence.

I open my eyes and everything is the same. The dirt beneath my fingertips is undisturbed; I'm alive. I'm alive! I get up carefully and continue on to the supplies.

Pulling my pack from my shoulders, I begin to fill the pouches. Just enough to keep me going for a while, to remain unnoticed. A couple of apples here, a handful of crackers there. A few pieces of dried meat. Three rolls from a basket of dozens. When I've taken what I need, I hop out of the minefield and then sprint for the safety of the forest.

It's been five minutes when I hear the explosion. Not the clean, crisp sound of a cannon firing, telling the tributes that someone's died, but a different kind of explosion. One after the other, close together. _The minefield,_ I think. Someone is following my lead and the Careers will be coming back. I dive into the bushes; when the Careers run past me, their weapons brush the leaves around me. As I creep after them - carefully, carefully - I hear a cannon. I wonder if it's for the intruder or for one of the Careers. I wait until the Careers leave again the next morning to venture onto the plain.

The dirt is blackened and torn up, most of their supplies gone. I search through the supplies, stuffing the things I can use into my pack. A knife blade, a metal cooking pot.

I don't know who set off the mines yesterday. There seems to have been only one death, as the faces in the sky told me. The only person who appeared was Explosives. Cato must have killed him after he realized that the mines had blown up the supplies. The intruder seems to have escaped. I don't know how, but I think it's safe to say that they're _pure genius._ I throw my head back and laugh at the pretty blue sky. The grass of Thresh's hideout rustles and I flee towards the woods.

About a week passes and I'm following the District 12's. She's healed him up nicely; they must have gotten some medicine. And now she's left him alone. Katniss has gone to hunt and Lover Boy's picking berries. I've learned his name by now. Peeta.

And now I just have to wait for him to go and pick his berries a little farther away. Then I can make my move. It takes a while for him to do so, heading down towards a nearby river, whistling the signal that Katniss taught him before she left. I'm next to their food stash in seconds. One apple; they'll notice if I take that. Two rolls. I'm tempted to take a pinch of the bread, but I refrain. Instead, I take a tiny piece of white cheese and a handful of berries, and then I run; Katniss is returning, whistling frantically.

I get a good hundred yards away before I stop. I nibble at the cheese, examining the berries. I don't recognize them, but they look like blackberries. I pop a few into my mouth.

The rest of them roll out of my grasp. I've dropped the cheese, too - I'm vaguely aware of that. I have to sit down. I can't breathe. What's happening to me?

The berries. They're _poisonous._ Why, then, was Lover Boy picking them? Does he know? Maybe it was a plot. A plan, to eliminate me. My mind works furiously, faster and faster, the thoughts blurring together. Shouldn't it be slowing, dying? _I'm_ dying.

I hear the cannon shot announcing that as everything goes black.

•••

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **So... What did you think? Did you think it deserved to win? Reviews for an author are like candy for a five-year-old kid, guys. Just remember that. :)_


End file.
